


there's a possibility

by angelsaves



Category: Actor RPF, Taskmaster (UK TV) RPF
Genre: Kneeling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Podfic Welcome, mentioned Greg Davies/Alex Horne, previous Taylor Lautner/Kristen Stewart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28398087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsaves/pseuds/angelsaves
Summary: Greg Davies stops by Taylor Lautner's hotel room, and he discovers interesting new things about his former castmate.
Relationships: Greg Davies/Taylor Lautner
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	there's a possibility

**Author's Note:**

> if you haven't seen any of the videos of the two of them together, i strongly recommend fixing that: they play ping-pong, taylor tries to define and/or pronounce british words, it's amazing.
> 
> title from "possibility" by lykke li, from the twilight: new moon soundtrack. 
> 
> betaed by the magnificent mardia.

When Taylor opens the door to his hotel room, Greg gets to watch the smile break over his face, transforming him from a broodingly handsome young man into something a great deal goofier and more charming. "Greg!" he says, sounding delighted, as if Greg hadn't just texted him that he was on his way up.

"In the flesh," Greg says, spreading his hands, and — surely Taylor didn't just glance at his crotch? No, that's absurd, something out of the fervid imaginings of a senile old man.

"Come in!" Taylor gestures to the couch — he'd sprung for a suite, then. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Greg settles into the stiff cushions. "I'm all right," he says, cocking an eyebrow at the way Taylor is fidgeting by the mini-fridge. "What's this all about?"

"I — well." Taylor turns to face him directly, twisting his fingers together. "You've always — and I've been watching Taskmaster, you know, and — BDSM, and — I like — and the way you are with Alex — I thought maybe — with me?" He finishes off this bewildering speech by dropping to his _fucking_ knees, right at Greg's feet, and looking up at him with limpid eyes.

" _Jesus_ ," Greg says, clenching his hands into the fabric of his trousers to keep from doing something incredibly stupid, like touching Taylor's tilted-up face, or taking out his own cock. "Taylor, could you try that again, maybe? In full sentences, this time?"

Taylor blows out a breath and looks up at the ceiling. "Did I get it wrong?"

"I'm honestly not sure what you have or haven't got," Greg tells him, keeping his voice gentle. "You're going to have to use your words."

"I _want_ ," Taylor starts, then takes a deep breath. "Look, maybe I do have it wrong, but I thought, from the way you are with Alex on the show, that maybe you also liked being that way off-camera. And if you did, you might like being that way with me."

"That way," Greg says. "Meaning?"

Taylor glares at him, and Christ, he's got no right to be so hot like this; it's completely unfair. "Meaning _kinky shit_ , Greg, I thought being on my _knees_ might be a clue."

Greg snorts. "All right, it was a bit of one. But you can't just — have you even done this sort of thing before?"

"Uh, yeah," Taylor says. "Kristen and I had a thing during Twilight."

"I didn't think you were her type," Greg says, allowing himself just a little bit of an ogle at Taylor's very masculine charms, set off by his thin white undershirt and tight trousers.

"I mean, she didn't, like, _touch_ me," Taylor explains. "She'd tie me up and touch herself and make me watch, and she'd talk dirty." He gets a faraway look in his eyes, adding, "She's got a really filthy mouth."

"I see." Greg's not usually a jealous man, but something clenches in his gut at that look, and he finds himself saying, "I'd touch you."

That makes it twice in one evening he gets to see it: the hapless grin that, if he's honest, Greg would do just about anything for. "Would you?" Taylor asks hopefully, bouncing a little.

"I'm too old to bend like that," Greg informs him, "so if I'm going to kiss you, you're going to have to come up here." And then all at once, he's got a lapful of all-American beef, pressing little kisses all over Greg's face and making soft whimpering noises like this is all he's ever wanted. "God, you're going to be the death of me, aren't you?"

"I hope not," Taylor says, concern creasing his forehead, and Greg laughs, pulling him down for a kiss on the mouth. "Because -" Greg kisses him again. "I _like_ you!"

"Do you?" Greg tries not to laugh at his earnestness. "I'd got that impression, actually."

"Oh, shut up —" Taylor swats at his chest playfully.

Greg catches his wrists, one in each hand, and watches his eyes go very, very dark. "I think," he says slowly, "that I'll say whatever I like. And you'll like it."

"Oh." Taylor is breathing more quickly now. "Yeah, I — that's probably true, I think."

"But if you don't, you're going to _use your words_ ," Greg stresses, "because I want to make a whimpering mess out of you, but in a good way, all right?"

"Yeah, _obviously_ ," Taylor says, rolling his eyes.

"Because you want to be good for me." He tightens his grip, just a bit, and Taylor swallows hard and lets out a ragged breath. "Isn't that right?"

"Yes." Taylor gives him a look from beneath his lashes and adds, tentatively, "...sir?"

Oh, that's nice, that is. Greg likes the sound of it. "Good boy," he says, and Taylor makes a choked-off sort of whining noise that Greg wants to hear a lot more of. "I'd like you to get up and take your clothes off."

Taylor practically leaps out of Greg's lap — God, the boundless energy of a twenty-something — and strips to his skin, pretty cock straining skyward. Greg takes a moment to enjoy the view, then, unhurried, gets to his feet and stalks towards Taylor, crowding him against the far wall. The heat of him is incredible, even through Greg's shirt and trousers, and he wraps those impressive arms around Greg's neck and presses himself even closer.

Greg means to come up with a plan, to negotiate something — he's got a contract with Alex, it's all very proper — and then somehow he's got his tongue down Taylor's throat, Taylor's legs round his hips, and if he doesn't do something about this pronto, they might just both spontaneously combust. "Come on then," he says uselessly, hauling Taylor away from the wall with a hand cupping his arse, crossing to the king bed in a few strides, tossing Taylor onto it.

He pushes up onto his elbows and beams at Greg, like seeing a flushed and rumpled man nearly twice his age trying desperately not to come in his pants is all he's ever wanted. It certainly is flattering. "Aren't you going to take off your clothes?" Taylor asks.

"Why, do you want me to?" Greg asks, caught off-guard.

"Uh, yeah." Taylor looks confused. "Unless — I mean, Kristen did? And I'd like to, you know, see you? But you're the boss."

"That's right, I am," Greg says, and then he does undress, because even if he's a bit of a sadist or a dom or whatever the kids are calling it, deep down he's also a softy, and if seeing him in the nude would make Taylor happy, well, then, fine. He kicks off his pants and catches Taylor's appreciative gaze lingering on his cock. "You a fan of Little Gregory, then?" he inquires.

"I'm a fan of —" Taylor turns bright red. "I was going to say 'the whole package,' but —"

Greg laughs out loud. "Well put." He sits on the edge of the bed, next to Taylor, and runs his fingers up the length of Taylor's thigh. It makes him shudder beautifully. "Now," he murmurs, "what shall I do with you?"

"Whatev—" Taylor starts to say, but Greg covers his mouth with his hand; his breath is hot and damp.

"No, I have a rule," he says. "If I request your input, you narrow down my choices somehow — you give a suggestion or rule something out. I _know_ I can do whatever I want with you. All right?"

Taylor nods, and Greg moves his hand. "You could — you said you'd touch me," he says hesitantly. "I could suck you off, and you could pet my head?"

"What a charming notion." Greg strokes the side of Taylor's face. "You'd like that, would you?"

"Yeah," Taylor says, leaning into his touch. "That'd be awesome."

"Well, get to it, then!" He waves an imperious hand, and Taylor scrambles to obey, kneeling at Greg's feet and leaning right in to lick up the length of Greg's cock. It feels unbelievably good, even better when Taylor wraps his mouth around the head, such that it takes a real act of will for Greg to say, "You don't have to take it all at once, you know, you can use your hand," before the boy chokes himself.

Taylor gives him a reproachful look. "Kristen had a _really_ big dildo," he says, and _Christ_ , Greg's never met her, but he might have to send the girl a fruit basket, because Taylor swallows his cock down like a champion.

"Oh, _very_ good," Greg says, running his fingers through Taylor's thick hair to cup the back of his head. Taylor's eyes drift shut at the praise, and he sucks harder, his lovely mouth stretched obscenely. Greg wants to touch him everywhere — and, he realizes, he can do just that; run his thumb along Taylor's lower lip, trace the fans of lashes spread on his cheekbones, stroke his hair.

God, and now Taylor is moaning around Greg's cock, his hands still laid palm-up on his thighs as he humps the air, like he wants to touch himself so fucking badly but somehow wants to make Greg happy even _more_.

"Taylor," Greg says softly, "Taylor, look at me."

Taylor blinks up at him around his mouthful, and that's Greg sorted; he pulls out just in time to come all over Taylor's chest. Well, mostly. There's a bit left on the corner of his mouth, and Greg is riveted by the sight. "Did I do okay?" he asks, then, "Is there something —"

Greg swipes the drip off with his thumb; Taylor darts his tongue out to lick it off, then sucks Greg's whole thumb into his mouth. "You dirty boy," Greg says, pleased. "And yes, obviously you did _okay_ , are you fishing for compliments?"

"Maybe a little," Taylor says, smiling up at him like sunshine.

"A lovely, dirty boy," Greg tells him. "Touch yourself."

"Yes, sir!" He gives his palm a filthy lick and gets started, fast and hard like he's punishing himself, except that the look on his face is closer to rapture than pain.

"Just like that," Greg says, his gaze shifting from Taylor's face to the gleaming head of his cock and back again. "Oh, what a good boy you are."

"Oh God!" Taylor throws his head back, and Greg can't resist reaching out to touch the line of his throat, sweaty and golden. "Oh, _Greg_ —"

Greg leans forward and wraps his hand around Taylor's; Taylor gasps, and Greg kisses his open mouth while he comes.

"Oh God, oh fuck, oh Greg, that was so hot," Taylor babbles: all the warning Greg gets before he's tackled flat and kissed within an inch of his life. "We can do it again, right?"

"Ha!" Greg flips Taylor over and pins him by the wrists, pressing their foreheads together and grinning. "Surely you don't think we're done yet?"

Taylor laughs and rubs up against Greg in a delicious roll of friction. "I really do have the best ideas," he says smugly, and honestly, Greg's not going to disagree.


End file.
